


The Swan Princess

by AnnaLouisa



Series: Captain Swan: Fairytale AUs [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-06-20
Packaged: 2018-07-12 13:18:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7106446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaLouisa/pseuds/AnnaLouisa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enchanted Forest AU. Based off the animated Swan Princess movie. Prince Charming and Snow White broke Regina's curse with True Love's Kiss sooner than expected. With the Evil Queen defeated and a special new protection spell against the wrath of the Dark One, they are roped into a marriage contract: their newborn daughter to Prince Killian of Camelot. The conditions are simple: Emma and Killian will spend every summer together until they come of age, where they will have to make a choice a choice: to marry or to go their separate ways. What will they choose? And what does Rumplestiltskin's ominous last promise to Snow White have to do with anything?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to Once Upon a Time or the Swan Princess movie series; and I gain no profit from this work.

Ever since he’d found out Snow was pregnant, Charming had imagined the birth of their baby several times over. He’d had crazy dreams involving the birth – sometimes Snow went into labor in their bedroom, sometimes in the nursery, other times in the throne room. In one of his stranger dreams, she’d ended up giving birth to their child on the kitchen floor. 

He’d been told by other fathers of what to expect – the screaming, the tears, the sweat, the feeling of utter hopelessness at seeing his wife in pain. But he’d also been told of the joy he would feel when he held his newborn for the first time. Though neither he nor Snow had any surviving parents of their own to compare stories with; their friends were more than willing to share their previous experiences with parenthood. Granny, especially, had been invaluable in keeping both he and Snow calm as the pregnancy progressed.

Not once had he ever dreamed, even in his nightmares, that Snow would bring their daughter into the world at the same time Regina attempted to rip them from it.

He could see the apocalyptic purple smoke out of the corner of his eye as he held his wife, could watch with terrifying clarity as it crept ever closer to the castle. He did his best to keep the edge out of his voice as he calmed Snow, murmuring soothing words of nothing into her ear as she rode out each painful contraction. Doc did his best to keep her comfortable, but when he finally told her it was time to push, the curse was barely fifty feet away from their bedroom window.

“NO!” Snow screamed, her eyes wide and panicked even as Doc announced the baby was crowning. “I can’t – I can’t have this baby now!”

“You don’t have a choice, Snow,” Charming answered, leaning up to press his lips to her sweaty forehead. Her fingers were curled tightly around his, slowly draining the life out of his hand as she silently begged him to stop the pain. He gritted his teeth, at war with himself – it was his instinct to give Snow everything she wished; but he knew she had no choice in the matter right now. He took her face between his hands, voice urgent. “Please, Snow, for our daughter – PUSH!”

She did, and Princess Emma Margaret Ruth of Misthaven was born as thunder boomed loudly enough to rattle the window panes. Snow shrieked in terror as Doc wrapped Emma hastily in the blanket Granny had knitted so painstakingly for her and laid her on Snow’s chest.

“Emma,” Snow breathed, one hand reaching up to wipe away the smears of blood on her daughter’s face. “Oh, Charming – she’s a girl.”

“You knew that already,” he reminded her, bending over to kiss her forehead once more. “You always knew.”

Snow smiled up at him, tears leaking from her eyes once more. Her face was streaked with sweat, lines already deeply etched under her eyes, her hair a dark, messy blot on the pillow behind her; but she was holding their newborn child and she had never looked more beautiful to him.

He had just bent down to kiss her when the curse hit, dealing a crushing blow to the walls behind him, leaving them spiderwebbed with cracks. The glass in the windows shattered, and Charming launched himself instinctively over Snow and Emma, praying he would be able to shield them from any collateral damage. 

“What’s happening?” Snow yelled over the sudden, violent howls of wind. Charming tried to turn his head, to fight the force of the gale, but it was hopeless.

“It’s – the Queen’s curse!” he shouted back. “We’re too late!”

He screwed his eyes shut, focusing on forcing the air to move in and out of his lungs. Between the sheer force of magic whipping through the room and the crushing guilt of failure, he felt frail, liable to collapse from the weight of it all at any given moment. He had always believed they would win, even when Snow’s faith had failed. Despite Rumplestiltskin’s grim prediction, he assumed that, somehow, they would be able to defeat the Queen, in the end. That they could protect Emma; send her through the wardrobe the way the Dark One had recommended. To see those carefully made plans fall apart – to watch as Regina’s curse ripped away all of the love and light he and Snow had worked so hard to return to this land – was more painful than words could say.

But it was more than that, somehow. He felt as though his entire identity was being ripped away from him; as though his soul was disintegrating under the force of the magic surrounding him on all sides. The essence of his being, everything that made him who he was, hung on only by a thread; moments from being whisked away and leaving him adrift, a blank slate with all traces of his former self gone.

Hands gripped his chin, forcibly pulling his face to the side. The strength of the touch grounded him for a moment, and he forced his eyes open the smallest amount, just in time to see a woman’s face. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he registered that she was his wife, that he loved her more than he loved himself; yet he couldn’t seem to recall her name. The thought terrified him, jerking him further towards alertness as the woman, her features set, pulled his face to hers to kiss him. 

The moment her lips touched his, everything came flooding back – his ring on her finger in the forest; the arrow in his shoulder as she kissed him for the first time; her face, smooth and pale, lying underneath a sheet of glass and a snowfall; the look in her eyes as she vowed to be his wife. She was Snow White, and he was Prince Charming, and somewhere in her lap was their newborn daughter. All at once, Charming knew who he was and what he stood to lose, and he kissed Snow back with all the force he could muster.

A familiar pulse of energy shot from the place where their lips connected, a wave of light piercing the orchid smoke surrounding them. As quickly as it had begun, it stopped – the howl of the wind replaced with the muffled cries of their newborn daughter. In many ways, the silence was equally as stunning as the curse had been, and Charming pulled his lips from Snow’s, filling his lungs with a much-needed breath of air. 

His wife sank back onto her pillows, Emma still clutched tightly in her arms, little face bright red from all the screaming. A streak of blood was smeared across the baby’s forehead; and for a moment Charming’s heart constricted in fear before he realized it was simply residue from the birth that had taken place less than five minutes prior. 

Emma’s screams continued to fill the silence as he allowed himself to collapse onto the bed at Snow’s feet. The motion of the mattress finally jolted the mother into action. Snow adjusted her grip on her daughter, rocking her back and forth in her arms as best she could in the tangled bedsheets.

“Hush, Emma,” she cooed, her voice ragged. “It’s alright – it’s okay.” Their daughter quieted somewhat, and Snow glanced up at Charming, who still hadn’t found the strength to move. “What – what happened?” she asked, her voice hushed. “Rumplestiltskin said –”

“NO!”

Charming leapt to his feet at the sound of his stepmother-in-law’s voice; turning to find her looming in the doorway. All trussed up in an extravagant coal ball gown complete with a feather cape, the destructive royal’s face was contorted in what could only be described as absolute hatred as her eyes found her stepdaughter. Very carefully, Charming took a step away from the bed. He had tossed his sword belt to the side in order to assist Snow during her labor, but if he could get to it now….

“Regina –” Snow warned as Emma began to wail loudly once more, but the Evil Queen cut her off, clearly beyond reason. 

“YOU BROKE IT,” she screeched, advancing menacingly toward the mother and child. “YOU BROKE MY CURSE!”

“Regina, you never should have cast that curse,” Snow replied, her tone mournful as she tried to soothe Emma once more. Charming risked another step but needn’t have worried – Regina’s focus was completely locked on Snow.

“Of course I should have,” the Queen snapped back. “You deserved to lose your happy ending, just as I did – because of you!”

“I made a mistake, Regina,” Snow sighed. “I was a child, how could I have known what your mother would do?”

Regina bared her teeth, gearing up for yet another round of accusations. Very slowly, Charming lowered himself to the floor, one hand searching blindly for the hilt of his sword. He kept a watchful eye on the distance between Snow and her stepmother.

“A child who didn’t learn the most basic lesson!” Regina ground out, her voice rising with every word. “Actions – have – consequences!”

Charming felt the smooth hilt of his sword under his hand at the same time Regina raised her hand to strike. 

“NO!” Charming roared, unsheathing his sword and lunging towards the Queen in a single movement. She paused in her attack, turning toward him with a sneer that turned quickly to alarm as she realized he was much too close –

Charming’s blade went straight through Regina’s stomach, his momentum carrying him forward until his hilt pressed against her ribs; the bloody blade protruding from behind her. They were nose-to-nose; both of their eyes open wide in horror. Charming was in shock – he couldn’t believe the Queen hadn’t stopped him with magic. He’d been so sure she would deflect him, sure he would only be a distraction to allow Snow and Emma to escape into the hall.

Evidently, so had Regina. “My magic,” she croaked. She flexed the hand she still held poised experimentally, fingers contracting as she desperately tried to force even the smallest of sparks from her fingertips. She turned her eyes on Charming, and the utter loathing in her gaze made him retreat a small step. “It’s gone,” she hissed. “This – is all – your – fault,” she exhaled, a bubble of red forming and bursting between her lips. It showered him in blood, but neither he nor Snow could do anything but watch as their long time adversary slumped to the floor; Charming’s sword still firmly lodged in her ribs. She heaved two great breaths with a Herculean effort, then closed her eyes for the final time. As Snow and Charming watched, a single trickle of blood fell from the corner of her mouth.

Absolute silence reigned. Even Emma was silent, as though she could sense her parents’ consternation. Charming couldn’t believe what he’d just done – had he really killed the Evil Queen? If he had; and if he and Snow had truly broken her curse, then that meant….that meant they were finally, finally free. 

He had just turned to face Snow when their chamber door was thrown open. “Your Majesties!” a young guard cried, doubled over and breathing heavily. “Your Majesties, I – I have news.”

Snow recovered first. “W-What news?” she inquired, her shaky tone due, no doubt, to the dead body lying on the floor. 

“We have defeated the Queen’s Black Knights,” the guard reported. “Or at least, all that accompanied her. Most were killed, but some were – some were taken prisoner.”

A knot formed in Charming’s stomach; a familiar warning that he wouldn’t like what the guard had to say next. “And?” he prompted, his feeling of foreboding increasing.

“And….and while we were down there, we, er – we had to imprison them near the Dark One’s cell, Majesties. Just because we needed the space.”

This time it was Snow who urged the young soldier on. “What happened?” she asked, and Charming could tell by the tone of her voice she felt the same apprehension he did.

“He – the Dark One was in a rage, Majesties. One – one of the White Knights got too close, and he – er, the Dark One, that is – he ripped out his throat.”

“Whose throat?” was all Charming could ask, feeling as though he was seeing the knight from the end of a very long tunnel. Even before the boy opened his mouth to answer, Charming knew. He could feel it in his gut.

“Lancelot,” the guard replied, confirming Charming’s worst fear. “The Dark One killed Lancelot.”

**************************************************************************************************

“YOU!”

Snow White’s wrath knew no bounds as she stormed down the dank cavern, setting the torches to flickering wildly. The echo of her accusation bounced down the tunnel before her, warning her adversary of her approach. In the unsteady firelight, she was every inch a fury, from the pink in her cheeks to the murder in her eyes. Charming and an accompanying squadron of white knights did nothing but follow the Queen of Misthaven at a safe distance. 

“You killed him, you – you soulless monster!” she shouted as her target loomed into view: a cage set deeply into the stone; built of two sets of long bars, each sharpened to a point, giving an impression eerily resemblant to that of a monster’s giant maw. 

“Careful, dearie, names have power, you know!” Rumplestiltskin taunted, dropping from the upper reaches of his putrid chamber. He pressed himself tightly to the bars of his cage, hands winding automatically around the spires as he evaluated Snow. Even in the faint light of the torches, Charming could make out the repulsive glisten of the Dark One’s mottled skin; could watch as his lips peeled back to reveal his rotting teeth in a malignant sneer. 

“You killed Lancelot,” Snow repeated, her voice gravelly with barely contained rage. “WHY?”

“Because you – broke – the curse,” the Dark One spat. “Couldn’t just let Regina win, could you? Couldn’t let the future play out the way it was meant to?”

“Meant to?” Charming asked, his own interest piqued. Surely, they hadn’t all actually been meant to live under the Queen’s horrible spell….

“Yes, meant to,” Rumplestiltskin hissed. “The Queen’s curse was supposed to work. You were supposed to spend twenty-eight years in a land without magic until your daughter returned to break the spell. And now, because of you,” he sneered, one disgusting finger pointing at Charming, “and your Twue Love, my – plans – are – ruined!”

“Well, I’m so sorry to inconvenience you,” Charming ground out, anger lancing through his bones. “Heaven forbid we actually be able to raise our daughter instead of put her through a magical wardrobe!”

“You were never meant to!” Rumplestiltskin roared. “She was meant to be the Savior!” 

“But she would have had to grow up alone,” Snow cut in. She wore a mask of pain and anger, her voice low and eyes hard as gemstones. “She would have been on her own in a strange world, with no one to trust and no one to love her –” her voice broke, and in the flickering light, Charming could see tears glittering in her eyes. “How could you have done that to my daughter?”

“Easy,” Rumplestiltskin replied, a malicious smile curling his lips. “I don’t know her,” he singsonged, then leaned in close, baring his teeth. “And she means nothing to me.”

Snow slapped him, his head flying to the side to crack against one of the wooden spires. “Don’t you ever speak of my daughter like that again!” she snarled. 

Rumplestiltskin raised his head slowly, each second more menacing than the last.

“You’ve just made a grave mistake, dearie,” he sneered. “And I promise you because of that: one day, everything you own, everything you love – will be mine,” he swore, voice dropping with each note until his voice was barely audible over the drip of the water behind him.

“I doubt that,” Snow whispered fiercely. Every muscle in her body was taut as she stepped away from the cage, hatred in her eyes. “Rumplestiltskin, because of your crimes, you are hereby banished from the kingdom of Misthaven,” she decreed, her voice ringing loud and clear in the cavern. “You leave at dusk and you will never again set foot in our kingdom nor harm our people.”

“And that’s an awfully big promise, dearie,” he jeered. “Who’s gonna help you deliver on that?”

“I am,” the Blue Fairy called, fluttering around the corner. 

“Reul Ghorm,” the Dark One muttered, clearly not pleased to see her. “What an honor.”

“Light magic is stronger than darkness, Rumplestiltskin,” Blue said by way of answer. “And I am stronger than you.”

“We’ll see about that,” he growled, his strange eyes reflecting the fairy’s glow as she approached him. Blue made no answer as she extended her wand, beginning an intricate spell. She wound her wand through the air, chanted in a language that made Charming’s skin crawl, and finally conjured a set of glowing handcuffs around the Dark One’s wrists.

“There,” she announced as Rumplestiltskin lifted his wrists, examining the pearly restraints. “That will hold him until he leaves Misthaven. And once he does, he will never be able to return.”

“And how d’you plan to enforce that?” Rumplestiltskin growled. 

“I’ve developed a spell,” Blue replied. “And I know better than to speak of it to the likes of you, Rumplestiltskin.” She turned firmly away from him. “It is time,” she said to Snow and Charming. “We need to remove him from the kingdom quickly.”

“Very well.” Charming nodded at the guards, both of whom moved quickly to open the cage and take the Dark One in hand. Charming was rather disturbed to note how calmly he seemed to accept his fate. Through the castle they went, down the main street of the surrounding village, out to the very edge of the kingdom; and yet the sorcerer never said a word until they were deep in the forest at the very edge of their boundaries. The Blue Fairy hovered in a patch of sunlight, her wand raised as she waited for the order.

“People of Misthaven,” Snow began, stepping forward to address the crowd that had gathered as they marched the Dark One through the kingdom. Her voice carried above the nervous chatter, directing the attention up front, where she stood, a vision in a white dress that shone in the sun. Her chin was lifted, her hair cascading over her perfectly postured shoulders, and she was, in that moment, every inch the queen she was born to be. “Today, we rid you of a menace. A man who has done nothing but terrorize you, your families, and your children since long before any of us were born. Today,” she continued, pausing briefly for effect, “we banish Rumplestiltskin from this kingdom.”

The cheer that erupted from the crowd took Charming by surprise. He and Snow had spent many nights lying awake, Emma sleeping peacefully between them, as they debated whether or not they were doing the right thing. Many of their people dealt with him, they knew. Long ago, Snow herself had sought his guidance to cure her heartbreak; and Charming had negotiated with the Dark One in order to find Snow while she was under her sleeping curse. His deals were tough, but they were valuable, and both monarchs had worried their citizens would choose to leave the kingdom in favor of continuing to trade with him.

Evidently, this was not to be the case. 

“The Blue Fairy,” Snow continued, raising one hand to quiet the crowd, “has designed a spell that will grant protection from his magic to all those living in Misthaven. When you are on the grounds of our kingdom, you are safe from his wrath. You are, however, also free to leave this kingdom should you choose, just as you have always been.

“So join me, people of Misthaven, in casting out this scourge,” Snow yelled, her eyes ablaze as she turned to face the Dark One. “May he harm us no more!”  
Charming nodded to the guards, and their newly appointed captain, Ned, took firm control of Rumplestiltskin’s upper arm and marched him roughly across the border. The moment they were outside the kingdom, Blue raised her wand, sending spires of white magic into the sky, where they formed a dome over all of Misthaven, fading slowly to transparency.

A few feet away, Rumplestiltskin’s shackles turned from ivory to a steely gray, then cracked and fell from his wrists. As soon as his hands were free, he seized Ned by the throat, levitating him into the air as he slowly crushed the guard’s windpipe.

“Let this be a warning,” the Dark One hissed, revolving to face the frightened villagers. “To those who try to banish me.” He twisted his wrist sharply, and Ned’s neck snapped. His body crashed to the ground, eyes wide open in a horror amplified by the watching crowd. 

“I told you once before, Snow White,” Rumplestiltskin sneered, raising his protruding eyes to where Snow and Charming stood, rooted to the spot and powerless to stop him. “I will not forget this moment. Mark my words, dearie – one day, everything you own, everything you love – will – be – mine.”

And with that last, ominous threat, the Dark One disappeared in a cloud of black smoke. 

*******************************************************************************************

The missive from Camelot had been concerning at best: a few short, simple lines giving the name of the king and requesting a visit with the monarchs of Misthaven. Neither Charming or Snow had known what to make of it – did they accept the request? Did they ignore it? Did they turn him down entirely?

“We should probably agree to see him,” Charming pointed out. “Camelot is our western neighbor, we don’t want to anger them.”

“He’s probably after the spell,” Snow speculated, casting one eye at the parchment as she changed Emma’s diaper with a practiced hand. “Most of them are.”  
“Yeah, but he’s the first one who hasn’t bribed us. That’s gotta count for something.” 

Snow gave him a look as she handed him a freshly changed Emma. “Likely he just wants to bribe us in person.”

“Be that as it may,” Charming continued, following Snow down the hallway to Emma’s newly-repaired nursery, “we should still see him. He’s the first to actually ask to meet us.”

Snow didn’t answer right away, tracing her fingers over the shelves full of stuffed animals. They were all gifts from other kingdoms throughout the land, given when the news first broke that Snow was expecting. There were so many it seemed unlikely that one child would ever be able to play with them all, but protocol dictated they keep every one. 

Finally, she turned to him, exhaling in annoyance. “You’re right. I just...I don’t like it. Personal meetings are harder to navigate than letters.”

“You’re brilliant at diplomacy,” Charming pointed out. “And he’ll be on our turf. Everything will be fine, you’ll see.”

Snow strolled over to him, her forehead wrinkled slightly as she contemplated the issue. Emma gurgled at the sight of her mother, and Snow brought one hand up to gently stroke the baby’s cheek, her frown morphing into a smile as Emma sighed in content. 

“Alright,” Snow sighed, her eyes locked on their daughter. “We’ll see him.”

****************************************************************************

“King Brennan of Camelot,” the man introduced himself, giving a sweeping bow. His voice was loud in the empty meeting room, where Snow and Charming had agreed to hear his proposition, seated next to each other in the same place they had been when the Blue Fairy first told them of the possibility of a magical wardrobe. “House of Jones,” the king continued, blue eyes crinkling in a smile. “I’m here because I believe we could be….useful to each other.”

“How so?” Snow inquired, raising an eyebrow as she nodded for him to take a seat. 

“Simple, really,” the dark-haired king replied, easing himself into a chair across from them. “I’m after your protection spell.”

Snow and Charming exchanged uneasy glances. It was as they had expected; but the man’s brashness had Charming on his guard.

“Aren’t most people?” Snow finally answered. Brennan nodded once, a small smile on his face. 

“Aye, my lady, that they are. But – and I’ve kept very close track – you’ve turned every one of them away. And I must admit, I was rather intrigued – why wouldn’t you accept, for example, someone like Midas? He could offer you riches untold, certainly. Any one of them could, and I’m quite certain you need them – so why turn them away?”

Charming opened his mouth to give an angry reply, but Snow’s hand on his leg underneath the table stopped him. “Why indeed,” she murmured, eyes still trained on Brennan. “I assume you came to your own conclusion?”

Charming had little time to admire his wife’s diplomatic skills before Brennan nodded once more, his smile broadening. “That I did, my lady, that I did. My assumption is that you aren’t looking for just riches.” 

Snow’s face was impassive but for a single lifted eyebrow, and Charming fought to keep his the same. The man was more right than he knew, but Charming sensed Snow had another trick or two up her sleeve as she waited for Brennan to continue.

“Riches are no basis for an alliance,” the king obliged. “Given your husband’s history with Midas and how easily he left untold fortune for love – likely, you two would know better than to simply sell off your protection spell for the right price. You would want something more.”

“Such as?” Snow asked, neither her face nor voice betraying a hint of her thoughts. Even Charming, who knew her so well, couldn’t tell if she was intrigued by King Brennan or not.

Unconcerned, the king leaned back in his chair, pressing the tips of his fingers together as he evaluated them. His golden tunic glimmered in the firelight, and a hard knot of dread formed in Charming’s stomach. “Such as….a marriage alliance,” Brennan answered, his eyes chips of ice as he trained them on Snow and Charming. “Your newborn daughter to my second son.”

“Your second son? Do you mean to insult us?” Snow retorted. Her grip on Charming’s thigh was almost painful, reflecting her inner turmoil. A marriage alliance, as they well knew, would be shaky at best; not to mention something they had sworn never to foist upon any of their children, let alone the firstborn daughter whom they’d nearly lost to a curse less than a month ago.

“Of course not,” Brennan replied, leaning forward, his face open and earnest now he felt he had their attention. “If your daughter married my heir, she would give up all right to a kingdom of her own should you have a second child. And if you didn’t have another child, our lands would be merged – something I don’t feel either of us wants quite yet. By marrying my younger son, your daughter maintains her right to the throne of Misthaven and forges an alliance – not a merger – with Camelot.”

It made perfect sense, and that scared Charming more than he cared to admit. He looked to Snow, could sense the conflict roiling within her. 

“As….allies,” Brennan added before either of them could speak, his voice dropping an octave, “we would also be able to support each other financially, militarily….in any way either of us may require.”

“Naturally,” Snow answered. “I assume you brought your sons?”

“I did,” he affirmed. 

“Would you care to fetch them?” Snow requested. “We’ll send for our daughter as well.”

Brennan nodded his assent and exited the room, leaving Snow and Charming alone at the table.

“I don’t like this,” Charming declared as the echo of the slamming door reverberated through the room. “I don’t like this at all. Snow, we swore we’d never do this to our children.”

“I know,” Snow answered, her face ashen. “But….Charming, we can’t keep denying this spell to other people. Already, we’ve stepped on some pretty important toes. We have to share with someone. Camelot….Camelot is a good choice in many ways, not least because they are our western neighbor. They have access to the sea – that would be excellent for our trade.”

“And what about Emma?” he asked, almost unable to believe his ears. “You would sell her future to protect Camelot from the Dark One?”

Snow’s eyes flashed. “Of course not,” she snapped. “We give her an out, a chance to say no to the prince if she doesn’t want to marry him when she comes of age. We make it one of our conditions: he gets the spell only if he agrees to release both his son and Emma from this contract if they choose not to marry each other when they come of age.”

Charming shook his head slowly. “Snow, I’m sorry, but that’s a shit deal for her.”

“Is it?” Snow asked, her tone taking on a desperate, almost pleading edge. “The suitors were going to come to court for her anyway, likely before she even turned sixteen. She’d have to choose from a bunch of pompous strangers regardless – she is our heir, she will have to marry and have children of her own. Maybe if she grows up knowing her betrothed – maybe a love will grow naturally.”

Charming still didn’t like it, and he knew Snow could tell, but he could also see the point she was trying to make. “Alright,” he sighed. “I don’t like promising Emma to another so soon, but you’re….you’re right. We don’t have much of a choice. But,” he added, “we make damn sure we give her a choice.”

“Of course,” Snow agreed, her face relieved as the doors swung open once more to admit Granny, Emma in her arms. Charming watched as his wife stood and took their daughter into her arms with practiced motions, taking a few turns about the room before settling the baby into the extra crib they’d had placed in the meeting room so Emma could stay close to them at all times.

Brennan returned only a few moments later with his sons, urging them forward gently. One was bold, wearing a mop of curls and a curious expression as he walked beside his father. His eyes were intelligent as he observed Snow and Charming, his little shoulders straight and tall. He couldn’t be more than five years old, but already he boasted the posture of a king. By contrast, the other was shy, clinging to his father’s legs and burying his little face in the hem of Brennan’s golden tunic. Charming caught only a glimpse of bright blue eyes before the younger child was hidden from sight as his brother stepped forward.

“King Charming, Queen Snow,” Brennan began, his voice brimming with pride, “I would like you to meet my son and heir, Prince Liam.” 

The little boy’s mop of caramel curls jostled slightly as he bowed to Charming. His small features were set and somber as he held out one hand for Charming to shake. “Hello,” the little prince said solemnly as Charming knelt down to be on his eye level.

“Hello,” Charming responded, shaking Liam’s hand very gravely. “You’re quite the proper little prince.”

“Daddy says I hafta watch my manners,” Liam replied, his eyes wide. “You an’ the pretty lady are important.”

Charming couldn’t hold back a chuckle. “Her name is Snow,” he reminded Liam. “Go introduce yourself, I think she’d like to meet you.”

Liam moved to obey, and Charming’s attention was diverted as he noticed again a pair of blue eyes peeking out from behind Brennan’s legs. “And I assume you’re the lucky man?” he teased, smiling at the shy child, who quickly ducked all the way behind his father. 

“Come now, Killian,” Brennan chastised gently. “Go and meet the king, son. Not to worry, you’re safe.” Slowly but surely, the king convinced his younger son to come out of hiding. When he finally came into view, Charming couldn’t help but notice the striking similarities between King Brennan and his youngest son. They shared the same hair, so dark brown it was practically black, the same sharp cheekbones and jutting nose. But where Brennan carried himself with confidence, the child quailed in the presence of strangers, his hands clasped tightly together and his eyes cast downwards. The rigid set of his shoulders betrayed his true feelings as his father quietly urged him to speak.

“And what’s your name?” Charming asked out of courtesy, a soft smile on his face, as it became apparent the little one wasn’t going to speak first.

“Kee-an,” the child mumbled, his accent distorting the syllables.

“His name’s Killian,” Liam corrected quickly, having finished saying hello to Snow. “It’s Killian, but he can’ say it right cause he’s on’y two. He’s still a baby.”

Before any of them could say a word, little Killian’s face scrunched up, his tiny face turning red as he turned to Liam and yelled, “NO!” at the top of his lungs.

“Now, Liam,” Brennan intervened, “you know it’s not nice to call Killian a baby. He’s a big boy now, remember?”

Charming glanced at Snow, amused, and felt his heart skip a beat at the sight of her smiling softly at the two boys.

“Sorry, Killian,” Liam sighed, his shoulders slumping at his father’s words. The little boy’s face relaxed, but when he met Snow’s eyes, he was quick to bury his face against his father’s shoulder once more.

“My apologies,” Brennan said, rubbing Killian’s back. “This one still doesn’t take well to strangers.”

“It’s quite alright,” Snow answered, her voice soft in the same way it was when she spoke to Emma. “It’s okay to be shy, Killian.”

The little prince peeked out from his father’s shoulder, examining Snow with one blue eye before turning away once more. 

“Liam, take Killian for a walk around the room,” Brennan instructed. “I need to finish speaking with King Charming and Queen Snow.”

“Yes, Papa,” Liam replied, dutifully taking his little brother’s chubby hand. Killian followed willingly as Liam lead him off, and Brennan offered Snow and Charming a sheepish smile. 

“Again, I apologize. My boys….I love them, but they can be….quite difficult.”

“We understand completely,” Snow was quick to assure him, her smile all warmth and radiance. Charming felt his own lips quirk up in response as his wife continued. “Emma has a terrible tendency to start screaming in the middle of diplomatic meetings.”

Brennan chuckled warmly, and the three royals set to work drawing up the terms of Emma and Killian’s marriage. In just under twenty minutes, they had an agreement: Emma and Killian would spend their summer together every year, starting after Emma’s fifth birthday. They would continue to meet until Emma came of age at twenty-one; where they would have to make the decision, together, whether to marry or not.

“And if they choose not to,” Brennan said, dragging his words out, “what will become of our kingdom’s protection?”

Though Snow had taken the lead on most of the day’s dealings; this time Charming spoke up before she could. “It is my….very great hope,” he confessed, “that over the years we will form a true alliance based on friendship. I have faith that, whether or not my daughter chooses to wed your son, our kingdoms will remain friends. Snow and I are more than happy to extend the solace we have found to our true friends and allies.”

Brennan nodded, his shoulders relaxing slightly at Charming’s words. “Then, in that case, I am completely satisfied with the terms of our arrangement. Are you?”

By all rights, he should have been, but as Charming glanced down at the document for the final time, the words arranged marriage caught his eye. A fresh wave of guilt swept through him – how could he doom his daughter to the same fate he had nearly suffered? The same fate, in fact, that had almost caused her never to be born. 

As if on cue, Emma’s cries rang out across the room once more. Charming’s head snapped up, already pushing himself into a standing position as his mind raced – that wasn’t her hungry cry, and it wasn’t her diaper cry – was she distressed? Had something happened?

He’d barely taken a step before King Brennan held up a hand. “Wait a second, my lord,” he requested. Charming felt a hot flare of anger – who was this man to keep him from attending to his crying infant – but then he noticed the same thing that had caught Brennan’s eye.

At the sound of Emma’s cries, little Prince Killian had pulled away from his older brother and toddled over to Emma’s crib. Though he was barely tall enough to see in, the two-year-old had reached up one hand to pat blindly at the blankets, calling out to her the whole time. 

“Ssssss,” the prince was saying, his little voice faint in the vast room. “Sssss, quiet.”

To Charming’s utter amazement, Emma stopped crying, her wails turning to sniffles and then to coos as Killian patted her blankets with his tiny little hand. Behind him, Snow gasped, and Brennan let out a low whistle.

“I say that to him at night when he won’t settle down.” The king spoke in a low voice, as though afraid to break the magic of the moment they were witnessing. “I tell him ‘shhh, be quiet, Killian.’ I think….I think that’s what he’s saying to her.”

They watched as Liam marched over to his little brother, who was now simply dangling his hand inside the crib, enamored by something he’d found on the side. “Come on, Killian,” they heard Liam say. “Leave the baby alone.”

Killian made to withdraw his hand from the crib, but Charming was astonished to see Emma’s tiny hand follow Killian’s out of the crib – she’d grabbed two of his fingers, and (judging by her indignant wail) wasn’t about to let go any time soon. 

“Can’t,” Killian said very solemnly to his brother, pointing to Emma’s grip on his hand. Liam scowled, directing his fierce gaze down at Emma’s crib. 

“Let him go,” Liam ordered, his small face ridiculously ferocious. “He’s my brother, not yours.”

“Liam,” Brennan called. The elder prince turned, and the king shook his head. “Leave them be, please.”

Liam’s shoulders slumped, his lips already forming into a pout as he stalked away from the crib, leaving Killian alone. The younger prince was babbling now, his free hand patting the side of the crib as he did his best to speak to the baby who would be his future wife.

“Sorry to break the spell, mate, but I don’t think I quite heard – are you two satisfied with the match?” Brennan asked again. Charming didn’t have to turn his head to see the shit-eating grin Brennan currently wore, but managed one of his own as he observed their children once more.

This time, it was Snow who spoke.

“Yes, I do believe we are.”


	2. This is Not My Idea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to Once Upon a Time or the Swan Princess movie series; and I gain no profit from this work.

Princess Emma Margaret Ruth of Misthaven (age five years and eight months) had been in Camelot for all of fifteen minutes, but she had already decided she did not like it here, thank you very much. The little princess was miserable, sweaty, and completely unafraid to let her mother and father know.

“I don’t like it here,” she announced, crossing her arms as she scowled fiercely across the tiny carriage at her parents. “It’s hot and icky. I wanna go home.”

“Nonsense,” her father replied. His face was flushed a deep pink from the heat, and he wore a red leather vest and a fond smile as he looked at Emma. “You liked coming in on the boat, didn’t you?”

Emma squirmed. It had been fun, standing on the deck with Daddy and watching as the sea leapt up to greet her with gentle drops on her face, feeling the wind run its fingers through her hair. The rocking of the boat hadn’t bothered her in the least – according to the sailors, she was the fastest-learning “landlubber” any of them had met. And the ship itself had been so much fun – there was always something to do on board the Swan. The sailors had been more than happy to let her help, too – unlike the men who had greeted them here, who wouldn’t even let her pet the pretty white horses they’d brought to pull her carriage.

“Yeeeeees,” Emma admitted, scrunching her face up. “But the boat wasn’t hot!”

“Emma, remember what I’ve told you about whining,” her mother cut in from across the carriage. Mama was the prettiest woman Emma had ever seen, wearing a white dress with a pattern of golden vines; her dark, curly hair twisted elegantly around a delicate golden tiara on her brow. Her porcelain skin was flawless, though one eyebrow was currently raised at her daughter. “If you sit up straight like we practiced, I’ll open the window for a few moments.”

Emma’s eyes widened as she quickly scrambled to do as her mother asked. She smoothed out her teal skirts, pushed her shoulders back the way she’d been taught, and did her best to hold her chin up high the way Granny had showed her. After a quick glance at Mama’s posture, she folded her hands in her lap, too – just for good measure.

“Much better,” Mama approved, giving Emma a smile as she leaned over to push the sapphire curtains aside. Hastily, Emma scooted across the seat to eagerly poke her face into the fresh wind, heaving a sigh as the cool breeze soothed her feverish skin. She dangled one of her hands outside the carriage, the breeze toying with the blue-green fabric of her trailing sleeve. Emma sighed, taking a few moments to bask, enjoying the gentle caress of the sun’s warmth. 

Finally, she tilted her head to get a better look at the actual world outside – she knew what Misthaven looked like, and she had wondered excitedly if Camelot would look different. She remembered telling her Aunt Red that she hoped the trees were purple instead of green, and how Aunt Red had kissed her fondly and told her that of course the trees were purple in Camelot. 

Much to Emma’s disappointment, there were no purple trees to be found in Camelot. As a matter of fact, Camelot looked – well, boring. All she could see was green-treed forest; and the leafy emerald canopy looked a whole lot like her forests back at home in Misthaven. With a heavy sigh, Emma flung herself back into the carriage, ignoring her promise to her mother as she slouched in her seat once more, disappointment flooding her body. 

“Emma,” Mama reminded her again, tone a warning this time. Emma scowled but complied, righting her posture with an angry sigh.

“That’s quite a frown,” Daddy remarked, his head tilted to one side. “What’s wrong, pumpkin?”

“Aunt Red said the trees would be purple in Camelot,” Emma answered grumpily. “But they’re not. She lied!” Her lower lip trembled. She had been so excited to see the purple trees – she had even planned to paint a picture to show to her friend Alexandra when she got home. She and Alex had spent weeks wondering about them – Alex would be so disappointed to hear the trees in Camelot were only green!

To Emma’s surprise, Daddy burst out laughing almost immediately, smacking his knee as he howled. Next to him, Mama closed her eyes, exhaling slowly and shaking her head with something of a smile about her lips. Emma waited, uncertain – why was her father laughing? Was she in trouble?

“Did Aunt Red really tell you that, Emma?” Mama asked after a moment. Emma nodded slowly, still unsure. “Well. Emma, I’m afraid there are no purple trees in any kingdom; and you remind me to talk to your Aunt Red when we get back to Misthaven.”

“Brilliant,” her father murmured, wiping tears from his eyes. “Just brilliant. I gotta thank Red for that one.”

A smart rap at the carriage door startled them, the rich blue curtains falling from Mama’s hand. Emma watched as her parents sat up a little straighter; observed her mother’s hands fly to adjust her hair before Daddy pushed back the curtain on the other side of the carriage.

“What news?” he inquired. Emma leaned forward, anxious to hear – she really really really wanted out of this stupid carriage soon. 

She needn’t have worried, however. The footman on the other side of the door reported loudly that they would be arriving at Camelot Castle in ten minutes’ time; and to prepare themselves accordingly. 

“THE KING HAS ASKED ME TO TELL YOU HE WILL BE HOSTING A FEAST IN HONOR OF YOUR ARRIVAL TONIGHT; AND A BALL THE NIGHT AFTERWARD,” the footman reported loudly. Emma leaned away, pressing her hands to her ears and scrunching up her face.

“Thank you,” Daddy answered, a smirk tugging at his lips as the footman nodded smartly and turned away from the open window. Her father let the curtain fall, turning to Mama with a teasing glint in his eye. “Did you hear that?”

“Loud and clear,” her mother answered, one finger massaging lightly at her temple.

“Are you sure?” Daddy goaded, smiling broadly now. “I can ask him to repeat it if you want –”

“No don’t you dare,” Mama ordered, twisting away from Daddy as he made to grab her waist. “Charming!” she hissed, her eyes darting to Emma, “watch it – you’re teaching our daughter bad manners!”

“Oh, but at least I’m not telling her the trees are purple,” he countered, and Emma felt her face sink back into a pout by default. Her father chuckled and reached across the carriage to ruffle her hair. “I’m only kidding, pumpkin,” he reassured her. His hands accidentally knocked her circlet of pristine white roses from its place atop her brow.

“Charming!” Mama objected, smacking his hands away from Emma’s hair. “I told you not to touch – oh, wonderful,” she exhaled as the flower crown slipped to Emma’s nose. Mama cast her husband an annoyed look as she moved from one side of the carriage to the other. She perched by Emma with a sigh, hands already busy in her mussed hair. “Now I’ll have to redo it. Emma, you tell your father he’s been naughty – messing up your hair right before you meet Prince Killian.”

“You’re naughty!” Emma repeated delightedly to her father, who merely winked at her mother. Silence fell in their carriage, but not for long – Emma had too many questions to ask.

“Mama, why do you need to do my hair?” she asked, trying to turn her head to the side to see her mother, who held her chin in place with a gentle but firm hand. “Why does it hafta look nice? Who’s Prince Killian? Where does he live? Does he believe in purple trees?”

“Whoa, whoa,” Daddy interjected, holding up his hands. “Give Mom a chance to answer, Emma.”

Emma complied, doing her best to hold still as her mother continued to work on twisting and repinning her hair without saying a word. The silence made Emma uncomfortable, and she squirmed. “Mama! Tell me!” she demanded.

“Not with that tone of voice,” Mama replied decisively. “Ask nicely, Emma.”

Emma heaved yet another long sigh. “Pleaaaaaaaaaaaaase tell me about Prince Killian, Mama,” she requested, looking up at her mom with wide eyes.

Mama exhaled. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” she teased, leaning down to plant a kiss on Emma’s forehead. “Remember, Emma, we talked about this. Prince Killian is the prince of Camelot – just like you are are the princess of Misthaven.”

Emma considered this. “Why are we going to see him?” she queried, confused.

“Because,” Mama said simply. “You two are going to be very good friends one day.”

“How do you know?” Emma gasped, jerking her head around. A loose blond curl tumbled from Mama’s fingers into her face, and Emma brushed it aside impatiently. “Can you see the future?”

“No, of course not,” her mother answered kindly, reaching for the stray curl to tuck it into place. “Your father and I talked to Killian’s daddy and we decided….” Mama paused, her eyes locked on Emma’s as she gently cupped her daughter’s face in her hands.

“We decided you would marry Killian one day,” Mama finally sighed. Emma knit her brow in confusion, looking over at her dad. 

“Like you and Daddy?” she finally asked, turning back to Mama. Her mother nodded, still carefully watching Emma’s face. Emma felt as though she should do something – cry, maybe, or laugh. Her parents seemed to be expecting her to do something, yet all she could think of was one question.

“But will I love him?” she inquired.

“What do you mean?” Mama asked slowly.

“You have to love someone to marry them,” Emma said matter-of-factly. “You love Daddy, and you’re married. Alexandra’s parents love each other, and they’re married. Will I love Killian?”

Mama heaved a deep, heavy breath, and all of a sudden Emma thought her mother was going to cry. She reached up, concerned, to pat Mama’s cheek gently. “Don’t cry, Mommy,” she insisted. “I will love Killian, don’t worry.”

Mama still looked like she was going to cry, but the footman poked his loud mouth back in through the curtain to announce that the gates of Camelot were in sight. The announcement brought Mama out of whatever reverie she’d found herself lost in; and all at once she was back in full force, fussing over the roses in Emma’s hair and adjusting her own dark curls, skirt, and tiara.

“Alright, Emma,” Mama said, bending down to meet Emma’s eyes. “When we get out, Prince Killian will be there to meet you with his daddy, King Brennan. Your father will lift you down, and we’ll introduce you to them, okay?”

Emma nodded, determined to do her part right. She could sense it was important to her parents that she marry Killian, which meant she had to do her best to love him – whatever that meant.

“And what are you going to do when I introduce you?” Daddy asked, testing her. Emma’s chest swelled with pride – she remembered this part. 

“Curt-sey,” Emma answered, the word strange on her tongue. “And say hello.”

“That’s right,” Daddy nodded in approval. “Just like we practiced.” Emma nodded as the carriage ground to a halt. She took a deep breath, focusing intently on the task ahead of her. She didn’t even notice as her parents exchanged pained looks over her head. 

“Emma,” her father said as the pages began to announce their names, “just – just – ” he hesitated for a moment, torn, his eyes locked on her face. “Just remember we love you,” he finally said, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead. 

“Love you too, Daddy,” Emma replied, throwing her arms around his neck. “And you, Mama,” she added. 

Mama gave her a soft, sad smile before the door to the carriage was thrown open. Daddy ducked out the door, his stygian leather boots pounding down the stairs and to the luscious grass below. He turned to offer a hand to Mama as soon as he landed on the ground. Mama accepted it, winking at Emma as she exited the carriage in a swirl of golden skirts. The door slammed shut behind her, but not before Emma caught a glimpse of a wide stone walkway lined with red flags fluttering in the breeze. She leaned forward a little, trying to see the castle behind it, but was met with the red wood of the door as it swung closed. 

Irritated, she hiked her turquoise skirts up to her knees and knelt by the door. Carefully, she pressed her ear to the hairline crack between the door and the side of the carriage, hoping she would be able to hear a little of the proceedings outside. Much to her surprise, she was able to hear not only her parents’ voices, but also a strange, new one, with perfect clarity.

“Snow! Charming!” a booming voice greeted her parents. “How absolutely wonderful to see you again!”

“Brennan!” Daddy called in response, chuckling slightly. “You as well!” 

A pause, and Emma squirmed, wondering if she dared move the curtain aside to see.

“And Queen Snow,” the stranger (Brennan?) continued before she could work up the nerve. “As lovely as ever.”

“You’re too kind,” Emma’s mother replied. Another pause, and Emma scowled. Maybe they wouldn’t notice, if she only moved the curtain aside a little bit….

“But where is your lovely daughter?” Brennan asked. Emma’s eyes widened as she scrambled away from the carriage door. Her father would be coming back any moment now to lift her down, and if her mother caught her with her skirts above her knees (again), Emma would be in a lot of trouble. 

“She’s right here waiting in the carriage,” Daddy answered. Emma had just pushed the last of her aquamarine bustle into place when the door swung open. Daddy was there, waiting with his arms open and a smile on his face as he met Emma’s eyes. He smiled and nodded, holding out his open palm for her. Emma took his hand and her cue, holding tightly as she carefully descended the steps. Her feet safely on the grass, Emma looked up….and up and up and up, past a crimson tunic embroidered with silver and wavy dark hair that fell to his shoulders; finally meeting King Brennan’s cobalt eyes as he towered above her.

Remembering her parents’ instructions, Emma quickly looked back down at his feet and curtsied the way her mother had taught her. “Hello, Your Majesty,” she recited boldly, craning her neck back to look up at him once more. “I’m Princess Emma.”

The king chuckled, bending down to her level. “Pleased to meet you, Princess Emma,” he responded. “You’ve grown quite a lot. The last time I saw you, you were still just a tiny baby in a crib!” The corners of his dark blue eyes crinkled as he smiled at her, and Emma felt suddenly shy. She took a step backward into her mother’s skirt, one hand curling into the silken fabric as if to protect herself.

“Emma,” her mother chastised gently, but King Brennan simply chuckled.

“Not to worry, dearest Snow. Your daughter is absolutely lovely. Besides, if I recall correctly, the first time you met Killian, he wouldn’t even speak to you!”

Mama laughed politely, one hand smoothing the top of Emma’s head. “And where is young Prince Killian?” she inquired, and Emma looked up, interest piqued.

Brennan simply smiled, stepping aside to reveal a boy in a royal blue tunic, black leather tights, and a short red cape standing a few feet behind him. Brennan waved, and the boy stepped forward awkwardly, hovering uneasily at his father’s side as though not entirely sure what he was doing there. “King Charming, Queen Snow, Princess Emma – I present my son, Prince Killian,” Brennan announced proudly.

“Go on, Emma,” Mama whispered, a gentle hand on Emma’s shoulder pushing her forward. “Say hello to the prince.”

Emma hesitated, her nerves getting the better of her, but when she felt Mama push her again, she obeyed, dropping a fistful of her mother’s skirts and taking several steps forward.

She met Prince Killian in the middle, her hands tucked neatly behind her back and his eyes on the ground. Emma couldn’t see the prince’s face, only a neatly combed head of dark brown hair that stuck up a little in the back, but she knew he was frowning. It made her angry – why wasn’t he happy to see her?

“Hello, Princess Emma. I’m very pleased to meet you,” he grumbled in a tone that indicated he was quite clearly anything but pleased.

Emma’s first reaction was to cross her arms and glare at him (or maybe just to punch him on the arm like she did to Pinocchio when he was being mean to her). But she remembered her mother’s warning to watch her manners, and curtsied to the prince the same way she had to his father.

“Pleased to meet you, Prince Killian,” she answered in her sweetest voice, but when she looked up, the prince was already twisting around, intent on marching off in a huff. The force of his turn swept the corner of his ruby cape into her face with such force that it left a stinging mark across her left cheek. 

Emma saw red. She hadn’t even wanted to come to his stupid kingdom, but she had – she’d come all the way on the boat and in the carriage, leaving behind her best friend only to find that Camelot didn’t have purple trees the way she’d been told. And now, the prince she was supposed to marry some day didn’t even want to talk to her.

Forget what she’d said to Mama. Emma was never going to love Prince Killian, not after this, she decided resolutely, locking her jaw. She watched him through eyes narrowed with malice. He had only made it a few feet away and was currently standing before his father with his head lowered and his shoulders slumped. He appeared to be getting quite the scolding, and Emma couldn’t help but think he rather deserved it. 

Whatever King Brennan was saying, it must have been effective, for Prince Killian suddenly turned and marched back over to her. His every movement betrayed his annoyance, right down to the angry glare of his eyes, which were as blue as the sea Emma had sailed in on. The prince marched right up to her, coming to an abrupt halt and thrusting his hand toward her, palm up. 

Emma stared at his hand blankly for a moment before remembering one other thing she had practiced with her father. She scrunched her nose in disgust, looking back at her parents. Mama raised one eyebrow, and Daddy nodded. Sighing, Emma faced the front again and held out her hand to Prince Killian.

He took it, leaning slightly away, face contorted in disgust. He seemed to steel himself, then bent and kissed the back as fast as he could before pulling away with a loud, “BLECH!”

Emma yanked her own hand away, the fabric of her sleeve swiping him across the face as penance for the blow she’d received from his cape only moments earlier. She rubbed her hand on the back of her skirt vigorously, wishing to clean it of whatever nasty germs the prince had left there. Thoroughly annoyed, she turned on her heel and flounced back in the direction of her parents. 

“Emma!” Mama hissed. “What are you doing? Go back over there and tell Prince Killian how glad you are to be in Camelot!”

“No!” Emma objected, crossing her arms resolutely. “He looks conceited!”

“Snow, he isn’t even showing her any respect,” Daddy chimed in. “Child or not, he should know better –”

“Oh, and you’re telling me that what Emma just showed out there was respect?” Mama retorted, quirking an eyebrow. “Charming, you reminded me at our wedding that we must not stoop to the level of those below us. Emma, darling,” she continued, squatting down to her daughter’s level, “I know he’s….not the nicest but you have to be nice to him. We must always remember to be nice to people, no matter how they treat you.”

“Whyyyy,” Emma whined, squirming in her mother’s hands. Mama grasped her chin, looking Emma straight in the eye.

“Because it is the nice thing to do,” she answered fiercely. And with that, she turned Emma about once more and pushed her back toward the prince.

He was already facing her, a forced smile on his face and his father looming behind him. “So happy you could come,” he said through forced teeth.

“So happy to be here,” she answered, equally as reluctantly, dropping another, smaller curtsey in response to his equally as tiny bow. She could see the tightness in his stance, the way his body was already turning away from hers. Intuitively, she knew he was thinking about the same thing she was: how much they’d like to run right about now. Emma barely knew Prince Killian, hadn’t even been in Camelot for a full hour, but she had already deduced one thing: this summer was not going to be her idea of fun. 

********************************************************************

The mighty prince drew his sword, ready to do battle against the fearsome beast before him. The odds were grim; but the prince knew he must prevail – for the sake of his kingdom, and for the sake of his true love.

“Reading again, baby brother?”

And suddenly the scaly green dragon was gone; the rough walls of the beast’s cavernous secret hideout dissolving into shelves upon shelves of multicolored, dusty volumes and dark, cherry wood. Killian blinked, and quite abruptly he was back in the library again, nestled into his favorite navy blue armchair. He wasn’t a fearsome warrior, he was the second-born prince of Camelot, Liam’s…..

“Hey!” Killian objected belatedly, scowling up at his grinning brother. “I’m not a baby!”

“Sure,” Liam agreed easily, his pale blue eyes shining with mockery. Killian’s frown deepened.

“I’m not!”

“Princes don’t whine,” Liam singsonged, and Killian had just opened his mouth to object once more when he realized Liam was right. Sulking, Killian slammed the book shut. The sound echoed loudly in the near-silent library, and Liam’s brow creased.

“Princes also don’t behave like five-year-olds,” Liam scolded. The stern tone of his voice made Killian hunch in regret, acknowledging for the second time in as many minutes that Liam was correct.

“Sorry, Liam,” he apologized, glancing up quickly to see if he was forgiven. Liam pretended to think about it, and Killian felt his nerves mount. Liam was three years older than he, already ten years old, and in training to be the heir to the throne. Killian admired Liam more than anything: he knew all about the world and how it worked – including how princes ought to behave, something Killian was regularly getting wrong. 

“Well, I suppose it’s alright,” Liam sighed, but he shot Killian a smile and Killian’s heart leapt. “Come on, Killy,” his older brother continued, ruffling Killian’s hair. “Dad wants us down for dinner early so we can greet the princess.”

The nickname rankled Killian’s nerves – it was his least favorite, Liam knew that – but he knew better than to argue with him again, especially given the way Liam’s lips curled around the last two words. Liam didn’t like Princess Emma, though neither he nor Killian had seen all that much of her. According to Liam, all girls were yucky, and Killian believed Liam with all his heart. 

He followed Liam quietly out of the labyrinth of library shelves, pausing only to give the plump librarian behind the desk a cheerful wave. And then they were off down the hall, Killian strutting proudly beside his big brother and trying to mimic the way he walked with his chest puffed out. It was a “king’s walk,” Killian had heard their father tell Liam that multiple times over the years; and yet the younger prince had never quite been able to muster the confidence needed for that kind of stride.

They had just begun to carefully descend the grand staircase when Killian’s foot lodged against something, throwing his balance and sending him flying through the air. He tumbled down the stairs, the fine carpet burning his skin as he scraped along it, fingers scrabbling for purchase to stop his fall.

When he came to rest, it was on the first landing, nearly twenty stairs down from where he’d started. Killian lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling high above, chest heaving with the effort to catch his breath. His heart and mind were racing as he desperately tried to figure out what had happened to him. Had he been watching Liam too closely? He hoped not. Killian knew Liam would never let him forget it if he had fallen down the stairs because he wasn’t paying attention –

“OOF!”

Something long, hard, and pointy landed on his stomach, knocking what little breath he’d been able to regain right back out of him.

“Stand and face me, coward!” came a small voice from behind him. Killian felt a hot flash of anger and grabbed the hilt of the wooden sword on his chest as he scrambled to his feet. He turned to see a mane of blonde curls framing a face alight with mischief. Princess Emma, brandishing a wooden sword and calling him a – a coward. Killian’s vision tinted red. Name-calling from his older brother was one thing, but from this stupid little princess – he didn’t intend to take that. 

“I,” he growled fiercely, “Am not. A coward!” He swung his sword over his head, bringing it crashing down into – empty air. The princess, dressed in a simple, flowing gown of lilac, twirled easily away, grinning as she dodging his strike effortlessly. Killian nearly growled in frustration, turning to swing sloppily at her once more.

To his very great surprise, she managed not only to block his sword but also to stab hers quite brutally into his belly, giggling madly all the while. “You’re not very good,” she observed as he lunged – and missed – again. 

“You – you’re – I don’t like you!” was all he managed to say as she ducked behind him and swatted him on the butt with her wooden sword.

She paused, stunned. “Why?”

“Because you’re MEAN!” he shouted, giving up and just throwing his sword at her. To his complete and utter surprise, she didn’t move in time and the makeshift weapon smacked into her upper arm with a dull THUD.

The princess let out a sound that was half cry, half scream and lunged for him, casting her own sword to the side as her little fingers grabbed handfuls of his dark hair. Her green eyes were crazy with anger as she shook his head from side to side, lips curled in distaste. He kicked at her, making contact with her knees. She let him go, ripping several strands from his head as she did. He shoved her away harshly as the pieces tore loose from his scalp, yelping in pain. She staggered into the burnished chestnut railing and wavered at the very edge of the stairs. For a moment, Killian truly thought she was going to fall – she was going to get hurt, fall down the stairs, and it would be his fault – he would be in so much trouble – but then she righted herself, launching toward him once more as several voices called out urgently from behind them.

Princess Emma ignored them, her nails raking down his arm. The biting pain fueled his rage, and he retaliated by shoving her in the stomach – hard – with both hands and all the fury he felt towards the little girl. She tripped over the hem of her dress as she fell backwards, the anger in her eyes dissolving quickly into fear as she fell toward the crimson-and-gold carpeted floor. Her chin made hard contact on the ornate rug with a dull THUD, but Killian didn’t stop, storming toward her as she sat up, intent on proving to her that he was not a coward. Before he could get within striking distance, strong hands wrapped tightly around his upper arms, yanking him backward with such force his feet left the ground. 

“That is quite enough of that!” his father’s voice declared angrily, pulling him farther away from Princess Emma as Queen Snow hurried toward her daughter. “Is the princess alright?” Father asked as the slight, dark-haired queen knelt to examine Princess Emma’s face. Annoyance rose rapidly in Killian – why was his father worried about her?

“She’ll live,” Queen Snow White answered, her lips pursed as she pulled her daughter to her feet. The princess glared at Killian defiantly, a single trickle of bright red tracing its way down her alabaster chin. “What happened?”

The irate question was directed toward Killian, but even as he began to explain, the annoying blonde princess began to talk over him. He raised his voice to spite her, intent on making his side of the story clear.

“She tripped me, Your Majesty –”

“I was only playing, Mama, I got bored –”

“Down the stairs and I have a big burn from that blue step –”

“He’s not good at swords, I didn’t hit him that hard –”

“She attacked me and she wouldn’t stop –”

“He pushed me –”

“She pulled my hair –”

“Made me fall and hit my chin, Mama it hurts –”

“Marks on my arm, look!” Killian finished indignantly, yanking up his sleeve to reveal three long, bright pink scratches on his forearm.

Princess Emma opened her mouth to object, but Snow held up on hand, and the princess fell silent, her face set into an ugly scowl.

“My apologies,” Queen Snow said, her voice tightly controlled. “It appears my daughter is incapable of behaving herself.”

“I am –” the princess began, but Queen Snow again cut her off. 

“Silence, Emma.”

“You have no need to apologize, dearest Snow,” Father began, his voice humble. His face was the perfect picture of an apology, shoulders hunched in regret, but the iron grip on Killian’s arm told a different story. “It is I who should be begging your forgiveness –”

“Father, you needn’t apologize!” Liam interrupted, his copper curls bouncing as he hurried down the stairs. His pale eyes flashed as Princess Emma and her mother turned to look at him, the queen’s eyebrow raised. “I saw the whole thing,” Liam continued, coming to rest by Killian and placing a protective hand on his shoulder. “Princess Emma started it, she attacked Killian with that sword –”

“Did not!” the princess cut in, her little face still contorted in a fierce frown. She held a bold stance, her arms crossed as she squared off with Killian’s older brother.

“Don’t lie,” Liam retorted, jerking his chin into the air in order to look down upon her. “It’s not ladylike.”

“I don’t CARE!” Princess Emma screamed back, and Queen Snow quickly grabbed hold of the violent little girl. Despite himself, Killian took a few steps back. He might have held his own against the Princess of Misthaven earlier, but he wasn’t eager to repeat the experience. 

“What’s going on?”

King Charming joined the scene, taking the stairs two at a time and moving quickly to stand protectively in front of his wife and daughter. He glanced down at the princess’ blood-smeared chin, then up to Queen Snow, his face slightly panicked. “Why is she bleeding?”

“Emma and Killian got into a slight tussle,” Queen Snow replied evenly, maintaining a tight grip on her daughter’s shoulder.

“And he did this to her?” the king growled. He leveled a glare at Killian that made the prince shrink behind Liam, suddenly terrified.

“Not so quick, my friend,” Father countered, one arm a barrier between Killian and the intimidating king. Distantly, Killian noted Father’s voice was steely in a way that suggested King Charming was anything but his friend. “Your daughter left her mark on my son as well. It would appear she instigated the whole thing.”

“She did,” Liam confirmed. “She attacked Killian with a wooden sword.”

King Charming turned, glancing at his daughter for confirmation. She nodded proudly, standing up a little straighter. “I used all the moves you showed me, Daddy,” she promised, wide-eyed.

“See?” Liam shrieked, pointing at the princess. “She said it, she said –”

“That’s enough, Liam,” Father cut him off coldly. “Princes do not point fingers,” he admonished. Killian watched, wide-eyed, as Liam’s face burned a chagrined crimson. “I believe,” Father continued, turning back to the Charmings, “both of our children are to blame. You can rest assured mine….both of mine, will be punished.”

“Emma will face consequences as well,” Queen Snow promised. Killian snuck a glance at her, noting a change in her tone that was different than his father’s. The queen’s mouth seemed to be almost….curled up on one side, as though she was suppressing a smile. Killian felt a sudden pang in his chest, sharp and aching. Yes, Princess Emma was in trouble; but from the proud smile on King Charming’s face, Killian could tell her parents would be much more lenient than his own. Irrationally, Killian felt his hatred of this perfect little golden-haired princess grow. At worst, her parents wouldn’t allow her to have sweets for a day, while it was unlikely Killian would be allowed in the library for several weeks as penance for his wrongdoing. 

“Apologize to Princess Emma, please, Killian,” Father requested. Killian’s mouth dropped open, his entire body protesting against the command – she started it! she started it! his mind sang over and over. He clenched his hands into fists, ready to object to his father’s instruction, but Father turned his head, his dark blue eyes boring into Killian’s brighter ones and promising to make his life miserable if he did not comply. 

Killian turned on his heel to face Princess Emma and her family. He could still feel the sharp sting of the scratches from the princess’ nails still on his forearm as he ground out an apology to Princess Emma and her parents. 

“Thank you, Killian,” Queen Snow accepted, laying a hand on her husband’s arm. “Emma, you need to apologize as well, darling.”

Darling. She called her daughter darling. Killian had never, in his entire life, been called darling – or maybe he had, by his mother, when he was very small. He felt the same pang as before in his chest as Queen Snow’s hand caressed Princess Emma’s hair; and a jolt of sharp hatred as the princess pulled away from the touch.

“Mama, I don’t wanna,” she whined. “He hit me!”

Queen Snow spared a moment to send Father an exasperated smile before she knelt in front of her daughter, taking her firmly by the wrists. “Emma,” she said in a low voice, tone firm, “you need to apologize to Killian. Yes, I know he hit you, but you hit him, too. Didn’t you, Emma?”

“Yes,” the princess admitted once more, her eyes focused firmly on her little satin shoes.

“That’s what I thought,” Queen Snow sighed. “Remember what I told you when we first came to Camelot, Emma: you must apologize and be polite, because it is the right thing to do.”

Queen Snow put one hand under her daughter’s chin, lifting the princess’s face until the two were eye to eye. The queen didn’t say another word, but after a moment, Princess Emma sighed.

“I’m sorry I tripped you and sorry I hit you and sorry I scratched you,” she rattled off, turning to Killian. She paused, thinking, then added, “and sorry I pulled your hair.”

“Apology accepted,” Killian mumbled reluctantly, wincing as he reached up to rub at his still-tender scalp. When he knew Father wasn’t looking, he stuck his tongue out at the princess, just to make sure she knew she wasn’t really forgiven. To his very great surprise, she saw him, her little face twisting into yet another ugly frown. She curled both her fists, raising them in front of her face, lips pulled back as she faced him. Her sage eyes bored into his, unafraid.

Killian was the one to finally look away at the sound of his father’s voice, and he told himself over and over again that it was not because he was afraid, not at all. 

“I’m not sure what got into them,” Father was saying, his tone the familiar courtly one he used among the nobles. “Perhaps just a case of the jitters – they’ve only known each other a few days.”

“Indeed,” Queen Snow replied, traces of another smile on her face. “Perhaps they’ll grow fond of one another in the years to come.”

“I sincerely hope so,” Father answered, bowing slightly. “I beg your pardon, Majesties – I’ll tell the cook to postpone dinner by about a half hour so we can all get tidied up….again.”

“A lovely idea,” Queen Snow enthused as her husband nodded. “We’ll see you then.”

Killian allowed himself to be steered away by Father, the grip on his shoulder crushingly tight. He winced as Father began to lay out the punishments for he and Liam: loss of library privileges, extra lessons in decorum for two weeks, loss of free time for a month. With yet another hot surge of anger, he thought of Princess Emma and how it was really all her fault he was in trouble.

Father had told him he was to marry the princess one day, and Killian had promised to do his best to be nice and polite to her, to make her feel welcome in Camelot. But now? Now, Killian had no desire to ever see Princess Emma of Misthaven ever again. It didn’t matter to him that Father had made some stupid promise – no way was he going to marry her.

Nope. Not ever.

*******************************************************

“I do hope you’ll forgive me for saying so,” Brennan began, “but I would count this summer as an unqualified disaster.”

Much to the king’s relief, Queen Snow White took his comment in stride with an easy smile, while her husband gave a chuckle.

“Oh, yeah,” King Charming concurred. “I would agree.”

It was a blustery August day, and the monarchs stood outside the elaborate wooden front doors of Camelot castle, waiting for the Charmings’ coach to be brought up from the stables. The servants were appropriately assembled, dressed in their finery and standing resolutely at attention. A few feet away, their stubborn children said extremely reluctant, though technically politically correct goodbyes under the watchful eyes of their parents. As Killian bent to give the obligatory goodbye kiss to Princess Emma’s hand, a lock of her golden hair caught on a gust of wind, blowing straight into Killian’s mouth. Brennan sighed as his son jerked away, coughing and spitting out the fine golden strands.

“Case in point,” Queen Snow remarked, her attempt at humor falling rather flat. 

“I hope you’re not having second thoughts?” Brennan was quick to ask, his nerves on high alert. The Charmings had promised to continue protecting his kingdom until their daughter came of age; but not even he could blame them for backing out after the summer they’d had. 

“No,” Queen Snow affirmed. Her smile was as radiant as the shaft of sunlight that fell across her as she spoke, and Brennan heaved a sigh of relief that did not go unnoticed by the queen. She laid a gentle hand on his arm, her smile reassuring. “We will keep our word,” she promised. “We will continue to visit until Emma comes of age, and your kingdom will remain protected until that time. Fear not.”

“I thank you, Majesties,” Brennan answered, bowing slightly. He caught sight of their brilliant white carriage out of the corner of his eye, pulled by six smart white horses. They trotted under the welcoming archway, following the circular path to the foot of the castle steps, coming to a halt as the golden-clad footmen moved quickly into position.

“That we will,” King Charming added, moving forward to clasp Brennan’s hand firmly in farewell. “Though I rather hope the next few summers go a little better than this one did.”

Brennan managed a laugh, kept a smile on his face as he bid goodbye to Princess Emma and her lovely mother. But as he stood with Killian, one hand on his son’s shoulder as they watched King Charming lift Princess Emma – clad in a pale pink dress – into the carriage, he reflected that the king’s statement wasn’t funny at all. The Charmings were safe no matter how this dubious arrangement ended, but the entirety of Camelot was potentially on the line. Rumplestiltskin knew the spell had been extended to Camelot; and would likely retaliate with a vengeance if he ever learned they were vulnerable once more. Brennan could see the destruction already: villages burning, his people mercilessly killed, his sons meeting terrible fates at the hands of the sorcerer.

Brennan shoved the vision away, waving rather leadenly to the Charmings’ carriage as it passed under the archway, but internally, his resolve had hardened into stone. Bad summer notwithstanding, he would make sure Killian married the Princess of Misthaven – whether they fell in love or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back, and just in time for Father's Day!! Make sure you tell the father figures in your life how much they mean to you :) I'm sure there's plenty of cute fatherly moments in this chapter as well (or at least, I hope there are). And I hope you guys enjoy the chapter, too!! My apologies for the lateness – I wanted to have this up Friday, but for the sake of editing the work, it had to be pushed back (I was away on Saturday & didn't have internet access). I'm HOPING to be able to update AT LEAST once every two weeks – possibly even more frequently if things are going well :D
> 
> There's a little tradition I like to do with my readers – I ask a question (usually pertaining to the fandom) at the end of the work, and you guys can answer it in the reviews, if you so choose. I love coming up with questions and hearing your answers – reader/writer dialogue is important to me.
> 
> So, my question on this chapter is a simple one: what do you guys hope to see more (or less) of in season 6?
> 
> Again, I hope you enjoyed, and thanks a million for the beautiful responses to the prologue. See you soon!

**Author's Note:**

> So there it is! To all my lovely tumblr followers, I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Please feel free to leave a review telling me what you thought or what I can improve on! Until next time, lovelies ~


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